


we will never be bored

by valenstyne



Series: the integra hellsing raising project [2]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Arthur Hellsing's questionable choices, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, a mad tea-party, the first of Alucard's many costume changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 06:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valenstyne/pseuds/valenstyne
Summary: Immediate sequel to the previous fic in the series.Integra has questions, Walter makes tea, and Alucard goes back to the dungeon (but only briefly).





	we will never be bored

**Author's Note:**

> Since the manga never actually says where Walter was at the time of Richard's attack, I've taken the liberty of assuming he was in the manor and not in South America ~~because I do not like the Gonzo anime and it isn't canon anyway~~. Anyway, this picks up right where [the first one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971115) left off, so read that first if you feel like it. (Should I have just posted this as the second chapter of that? Probably. Oh well.)

Upstairs, Walter is pacing in the parlor with a bloodstained handkerchief pressed to his forehead. He rushes over immediately, looking overwhelmingly relieved, and whisks Integra onto a sofa. “Miss Integra! What happened? Are you all right? Here, take a seat, I’ll see to that arm at once—” 

“It’s not that bad,” Integra says. “What about you?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but Richard’s men quite got the drop on me and I received a rather nasty knock on the head.” Walter peels her bloody sleeve back and inspects the wound, clicking his tongue sympathetically. “Oh dear, that must be painful. Don’t worry, I’ll soon have you fixed up. Speaking of your uncle—”

“He’s dead. So are the rest of them.” Integra looks around, almost expecting Alucard to have vanished, but no, he’s standing by patiently as though awaiting orders. “Walter, we have a vampire.”

“Ah,” Walter says. “Yes. We do.” He glances at Alucard. “Would you be so good as to give us some time alone? There are a few things I must discuss with Miss Integra.”

“Yes. I’ll take care of—” Alucard gestures in the general direction of the dungeon. “Is that acceptable to you, my master?” 

Integra’s not sure what he means, but she has bigger concerns at the moment, like Walter’s complete lack of surprise. “That’s fine.”

“Excellent.” He nods to Walter as he leaves. “You and I must talk later. It has been a very long time.”

“Indeed it has,” Walter murmurs, retrieving from a drawer one of the first-aid kits stored strategically around the manor and turning his attention to Integra’s injured arm. “Now then.”

“You knew,” Integra says flatly. “You knew all this time he was in there and you _never told me_.”

“I do apologize.” Walter dabs her arm with disinfectant. It stings, but Integra hardly notices. “Your father seemed to think it was better for you not to know. I believe his hope was that you would never need to.”

Integra doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or break something. “My father kept a _vampire_ in the dungeon for twenty years and _never planned for me to know_?”

“That would appear to be the case.”

Laugh _and_ break something, perhaps. “That’s completely mad.”

“Your family has always tended toward eccentricity, shall we say.”

“What _else_ don’t I know about?” Integra demands. “Are we hiding the Wolfman in the attic? Is Frankenstein’s monster stuffed in a cupboard somewhere?”

Walter’s smile is a bit grim. “Not to my knowledge, no. Please hold still, you do need stitches.” 

Integra sighs. Inheriting the Hellsing Organization is one thing; she’s been trained for that her whole life. Inheriting a vampire is something else entirely. “How long has he been here?”

“Since your grandfather’s time. About a hundred years, I believe.”

“Then he is actually Dracula?”

“Under a very clever _nom de guerre_ , yes,” Walter says dryly, tying off the neat row of sutures in her arm and picking up a roll of gauze. “But I can assure you, his loyalty to your family is absolute.”

“What do we feed him?” Integra asks. “I can’t be expected to have a bullet wound every time he’s hungry.”

“No, no. We used to have a supplier of medical blood, and I believe they are still in business. I shall contact them at once to place an order. In the meantime, the, ah, cleanup downstairs should be enough to satisfy him.”

Integra blinks. “Are you telling me he’s down there eating the bodies?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The thought gives her a certain vicious satisfaction. “Well, at least _we_ don’t have to dispose of them.”

“Yes, he has his uses. I’m getting too old for grave-digging, anyway.” Walter secures her bandages and straightens up. “Shall I make us some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Integra sinks back against the sofa cushions and closes her eyes. She’s exhausted, her entire body aches, and she very much needs a bath, but she’s alive. An hour ago, she was sure she’d be dead by morning. 

Footsteps approach from the stairs. Her eyes fly open and she jerks upright, her mind filled with images of her uncle’s shambling corpse hell-bent on revenge, but it’s only Alucard. He looks better somehow, more awake now that he’s eaten. He’s also wearing a suit. Integra doesn’t remember her father telling her a vampire’s shapeshifting abilities extended to clothing, but obviously her father didn’t tell her a lot of things.

“Master,” Alucard says. “Is there anything else you need?”

Integra takes a deep breath and stands up, knowing what a sight she must be with her shirt ruined and cobwebs in her hair. She squares her shoulders and looks directly into his eyes. “I haven’t introduced myself properly yet,” she says. “I am Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, director of the Hellsing Organization and head of the Royal Order of Protestant Knights. And as your new master, I would like to invite you to join me for a cup of tea.”

Alucard bows. “It would be an honor.”

“Good. Go tell Walter to make enough for three.”

When he’s gone, Integra goes into the bathroom to wash her face and hands. Her reflection in the mirror is disheveled and bruised and generally haggard. If she didn’t know better, she’d think _she_ was the undead one. She smooths her hair into place as best she can, rips her shredded shirtsleeve the rest of the way off, and wipes away the specks of dried blood on her glasses. That will have to do for now.

Walter calls her name from the parlor, and Integra returns to find tea laid out on the table. It’s so marvelously normal despite everything that she could almost cry.

Once they’ve all been served, Walter says, “This is rather non-traditional, but I would like to propose a toast.” He raises his teacup. “Here’s to Sir Integra Hellsing.”

“To Sir Integra,” Alucard echoes, lifting his cup. “Long may she reign.”

For the first time all week, Integra smiles.


End file.
